


my sanctuary, holy to me.

by projectfreelancer



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Possessive Behavior, too much repetition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 20:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13771848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectfreelancer/pseuds/projectfreelancer
Summary: roth's thoughts on jacob frye.





	my sanctuary, holy to me.

**Author's Note:**

> when you join a fandom two years too late

There are many things Roth wishes to do to Jacob. He wants to see the man on his knees begging for him. He wants to see him drowning in pleasure, to see lust glaze over his eyes. He wants Jacob to say, demand,  _ give me all the rest of your gang,  _ just so Roth can prove that he would. All Jacob has to do is ask, and he shall receive. All Jacob has to do is look at him, and Roth would do whatever it takes to please him.

It has been far too long since anything has caught his attention as much as his assassin has; even longer since anything has held his attention for as long as his assassin has. Ever since his blighters had brought it to his attention,  _ there’s a pair of assassin twins taking over your territory though particularly the man who goes by Jacob Frye, _ intrigued settled in the soil of his being. He had watched, in the shadows, as the man had won against another gang leader, winning over another district of London, shouting, “Welcome to the Rooks!” The first thing Roth had truly noticed was the beauty of him: the scar sketched near his eye, eyes vibrant and vicious, a body made for killing but much more. The second thing Roth had noticed was the blood speckled across the man’s lips, and something curled inside his stomach as he thought of kissing him clean of all the blood he has ever shed.

He wrote the letter that night by candle flame, his handwriting as clean as he can manage, starting with  _ My Dearest Jacob Frye _ and ending with  _ Yours, Maxwell Roth.  _ And Jacob follows his lead well, walking into the Alhambra as if he already owns the place. It takes barely a moment of held eye contact for Roth to know he would burn down the place if Jacob only asked him to do so.

Their partnership sets off faster than Roth had even thought. Had thought of a million ways to convince Jacob to join him across their shared drinking of wine, had even asked Lewis to make sure he had set out the finest, most expensive wine he had available.  _ See what I can provide for you, my dear, and so much more _ . But, as his blighters had reported to him previously, Jacob is an impulsive man and quickly agrees to Roth’s terms. All it took from Roth was honest compliments that the man had sucked up easily, and Jacob was his.

— 

Jacob is unlike what he had expected. Was expecting the man who was reported to be always witty, always a clever retort on his tongue, sarcasm littering his speech. Jacob in his presence, spread on his chairs, is a Jacob that still is witty but more reserved. When Jacob questions him of his life, his history, his Alhambra, Roth feels pride swell inside him at the idea that Jacob takes so much interest in him. 

It is no surprise to Roth how Jacob reacts the first time they kiss. Roth had been answering one of Jacob’s many prying questions before he motioned the always-watching, always-eager orchestra to bloom into song. “Too much of too little talk bores me, my dear,” he said as he rose to his feet, holding his hand out to the man who simply laughed though still clasped their hands together and pulled himself to his feet.

“If you think I am dancing, you must be going insane,” Jacob challenges, always-present smirk agrace his lips. The orchestra seems to hymn out its own praises as Roth looks at him. He settles his hand on the man’s waist, their other hands still held together.

“You are no fun,” is all Roth says because he knows Jacob, knows he cannot handle even the smallest of slights, always willing to prove anyone wrong. 

“Bastard,” is all Jacob replies with but soon they are doing a form of a waltz, Jacob taking the lead though his movements are not as graceful or practiced as Roth’s own. Jacob would not thrive in theatrics though his grace comes to light through his skills with his blades. But Jacob is still in his arms, and it is an intoxicating moment for Roth, and Roth wants to place Jacob on the stage for all to see, scream to a watching crowd,  _ He is mine. All mine. _

Jacob’s eyes do not leave his, and Roth knows the song is coming to an end too soon, so his hands pull the two of them closer. He sees surprise light the man’s face for a second before it is gone, and the song hits the crescendo, and Roth kisses Jacob.

And It is no surprise to Roth how Jacob reacts the first time they kiss: Jacob freezes at first, but he was born to never stumble or hesitate, and his hands find their way to his neck as he deepens the kiss. It is obvious the man is inexperienced, but he throws so much passion relentlessly into his every action that Roth is only endeared with every sound he makes or every inch of movement his hands make. Roth is the first to take possession of his lips, and, if Roth will have his way, he will be the last.

— 

Falling in love with Jacob is easy. Jacob laughs, and Roth would kill for him. Jacob breathes, and Roth would give him every possession he owns. Jacob exists, and Roth would light the world aflame for him. He has given up all pretenses of caring more about power than about Jacob’s every want. Jacob kills his blighters, and Roth watches with a sick smile. Jacob takes over his land, and Roth congratulates him with a kiss to the neck. Jacob jokes, saying, “What if I would have to kill you to take control over all of London?” as if to see how Roth would react, but all Roth wishes to say is,  _ If I die with your knife in my throat, I will die in ecstasy.  _


End file.
